Truth
by viriditas
Summary: PreHBP. Set in beginning of sixth year. Not exactly romantic… “People are afraid of honesty and truth, Malfoy. You of all people should know that.”


**Truth** by Viriditas

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling owns everything except the plot.

**Summary:** Pre-HBP. Set in beginning of sixth year. Not exactly romantic… "People are afraid of honesty and truth, Malfoy. You of all people should know that."

Alone. That's how I felt all the time. It's a quality that comes with being in Slytherin. We don't seem to have the ability to trust anyone, not even our parents. Oh sure, Crabbe and Goyle follow me around all the time and Pansy latches onto my arm whenever she sees me, but they're nothing but puppets, following their parents' every word. I sometimes feel like a puppet too, with my father and the Dark Lord as the puppeteers.

Alone is how I found her that night, alone sitting at the edge of the lake with her arms behind her for support and her toes just skimming the water. She seemed so different when she didn't have those Neanderthals plastered to her side. Come to think of it, they remind me of Crabbe and Goyle. They were all as thick as molasses and trailed after people who were infinitely more intelligent than they.

I mentally slapped myself. Was I comparing _my_ intelligence to the Mudblood's? Was I comparing _myself_ to her? Surely not.

I thought that she had not detected my presence, for I had been watching her intently for a few minutes. But then—

"It's rude to stare, you know." She didn't turn around.

I was caught off guard by the way she said this. She sounded tired, exhausted even. Very different from the bossy know-it-all I was used to.

"Well? Are you going to stand there all night? Either leave or join me."

Ah, a hint of the attitude I expected from her. It was infuriating how she was speaking to me without facing me, though. So I decided to annoy her back by not moving.

"It's also rude to talk to someone with your back to them, Granger."

A sigh. "Suit yourself, Malfoy." I supposed she was referring to my not obeying her demands. Then she added, "I'm not in the mood for a pointless quarrel tonight."

I scoffed. "I find our daily quarrels to be quite refreshing actually." Better than those one-sided conversations I have with my so-called friends.

I mentally smacked myself again. _Why_ had I told her that?

"Do you?" She didn't sound surprised at all; she was still speaking in that tired voice.

I left that question hanging. We lapsed into silence again.

I felt sufficiently awkward just standing there. I looked around for a bit, but after finding nothing particularly interesting, I went back to observing the strange girl in front of me. By this time, she had inclined her head ever so slightly. She seemed to be looking at the sky.

"The stars are such a mystery," she said randomly. "I know them as just fiery balls of combustible gasses millions of light years away. There's supposed to be nothing mystical at all about them. But centaurs have observed the heavens for hundreds of years and have made true predictions, prophesies according to those same balls of gasses. Uncanny, isn't it?" I could imagine the lazy smile on her face.

Balls of gasses? Light years? "What's more uncanny is that you expect me to understand the Muggle nonsense you just spewed at me. What's wrong with you tonight, Granger? Did someone put something in your pumpkin juice? You sound like Loony Lovegood."

She stiffened. I smirked. Finally, I hit a nerve. But she still didn't turn around.

"Her name is Luna. And no, no one put anything in my pumpkin juice," she said, steel lacing her words. Then, more softly, "Luna's a perfectly normal person—" I snorted "—and you should not patronize her so. I don't think anyone should treat her like that."

"Who are you to say that I should not patronize her? First of all, you, a lowly Mudblood, have no right to order me, a respected Pureblood, around like a common House Elf. Second, if I recall correctly, weren't _you_ the one who was condescending to Lovegood last year? What brought about this change, Granger?"

She ignored the first reason I gave. "Yes, I admit that I treated her disrespectfully last year. I regret that. She's not bizarre at all. In fact, I think she's better than a lot of people in this world. She's straightforward and she's not afraid of what people think of her." A pause, then, "As for what brought about this change, let's just say I had… an epiphany over the summer."

"Oh? And what was this epiphany?"

She shifted to a cross-legged position. "You don't need to look to Hollywood—" What's that? "—or any of the media for that matter to find good actors. Everyone can behave the way their friends want them to behave, the way society wants them to behave. You and I, we're not so different."

I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off.

"Take Voldemort—" I flinched "—for example. His philosophy is based on something completely ridiculous! I suppose it's human nature to want to feel superior to others. It's a form of self-preservation, to conceal your true self with a façade. But with Voldemort,—" I flinched again "—it's not just a matter of blood is it? It can't be. He's a half-blood himself." She let out a little laugh here, a laugh devoid of any humor. "No, he's _afraid_. Afraid that he's just like everyone else. Afraid of his mortality. Afraid that underneath the layers of evil and Pureblood supremacy, he's just Tom Riddle, an orphan with a troubled past. _That's_ what makes him do the things he does, utter the lies he spins. _That's_ what makes Luna so special. _She's not afraid_._ She doesn't lie to make herself seem better than her peers_."

She got up and dusted herself off. Then she faced me for the first time that night and met my eyes. I was startled at what I saw in her mud-colored eyes. Torment, grief, anger, righteousness were all present and equally intense in her piercing gaze. I wanted to ask what caused this epiphany of hers, but I was too transfixed by the emotions blazing in her eyes to do anything but stand there. I felt a pang of what seemed like concern for Granger, but I brushed it off. I couldn't care less about the girl before, so why now? It was just a spur of the moment thing. I was never good with emotional women…

"Everyone lies," she spoke so quietly that I could barely hear her. "People are afraid of honesty and truth, Malfoy. You of all people should know that."

She walked back to the castle without another word. I was left alone again.

_,.-:':-.,.-:'_

Needless to say, I didn't get any sleep that night. Whenever I closed my eyes, I would see her tortured stare. I gave up after a few hours of tossing fitfully in my bed and resorted to staring at my canopy, contemplating.

The next day, I was determined to find out what happened to the Mudblood to make her this way. I reasoned that I was doing this just to satisfy my curiosity, not out of concern for Granger. It must have been something catastrophic. She wasn't like this last year…

Perhaps there was something in the Daily Prophet. I was unable to keep up with current events for my father had me doing… other things.

I went to the library after breakfast. It took a while to convince the magpie-like Madame Pince to give me access to Hogwarts' _Daily Prophet_ archives but my charm and wit prevailed. She still looked slightly suspicious as she reluctantly handed me the stack of _Prophets_ from the summer. Her claw-like hands clenched a few times, as if the _Prophets _were her most prized treasures and she wanted to snatch them back as soon as possible. I shot her a pointed, but polite, look to indicate that I wanted privacy. She hesitantly shuffled away.

What was Dumbledore thinking when he hired her?

I flipped through the extensive stack of papers, not really sure of what I was looking for. I grew more and more disinterested as I read more headlines about the Ministry fiasco in which my father was captured. Naturally, he was released soon after; he wasn't the most influential person in the Ministry and Voldemort's right-hand man for nothing.

As I glanced at the Prophet dated July 31st, something caught my eye. The front-page headline that day read "TRAGEDY STRIKES HOGWARTS' BRIGHTEST AND FRIEND TO THE BOY-WHO-LIVED". I assumed they were talking about Granger. Weasley could hardly be considered even remotely bright. The article was as follows:

_**TRAGEDY STRIKES HOGWARTS' BRIGHTEST AND FRIEND TO THE BOY-WHO-LIVED**_

_The Dark Mark was found floating above the Granger residence this morning. – writes Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter – The parents of Hogwarts student Hermione Granger, whose unconventional beauty had captured the heart of Bulgarian Seeker Viktor Krum during the Triwizard Tournament two years ago, were found brutally slaughtered. I arrived on the scene soon after Aurors began their investigation and Obliviation of the Grangers' Muggle neighbors. I will spare you the gruesome details of the state of their house and their bodies._

_This was obviously the work of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters. And what a day they chose to carry out this murder! Today is Harry Potter's birthday. This slaughter was obviously intended to hurt the already emotionally troubled Boy-Who-Lived. Luckily, Miss Granger was not home when this tragic incident occurred. As for her whereabouts, this reporter cannot say._

_The Minister refused to comment. Sources say that he has been bombarded with complaint letters, most of them Howlers, since the incident at the Department of Mysteries earlier this year (for a re-cap, see page 3)._

_Let us give the poor girl our greatest sympathies for her loss._

A large photograph of the Granger home was featured above the article, complete with the infamous Dark Mark.

I felt sick. I felt sick because I remember that morning. I remember my father coming home after a night of gallivanting off with the Dark Lord. He had a maniacal glint in his eyes and a lop-sided grin on his face. He asked me, "Do you want to hear about the raid, Draco? I'm sure you'd be quite _happy_ with the results."

As always, I had said, "No thank you, father. I'm sure it was exciting. I can't wait until I can join you."

He had seemed put-off at my answer. It had obviously satisfied him, however, because he ceased to talk about it. I had always wondered why he was so eager to tell me.

Now I knew.

And I was far from "quite happy".

For the first time in my life, I truly questioned my father. For the first time in my life, I took Granger's words into consideration.

_People are afraid of honesty and truth, Malfoy. You of all people should know that._

She was right. People _are_ afraid. _I_ am afraid. And for good reason.

Truth is terrible when it rears its ugly head.

_,.-:':-Fin-.,.-:'_

**A/N: **I know, I know… I should be working diligently on Satin. But I couldn't resist! The quote in the summary just hit me randomly while I was playing Spider Solitaire and I just had to write this. Don't kill me!

I may or may not continue with this. It may end up being a multi-chapter story (by request of my beta, **azkabancell101**). It may stay a one-shot, as I originally intended. It's up to you to convince me. ;)

Well, that and time issues and hopefully freedom from writer's block…

REVIEW!


End file.
